Children of War
by Foxtantine
Summary: Mrs. Cole has had enough. The Demon has to go and where else but the Home for Troubled Children. There, Tom meets Henry Isherwood. His jailmate. Eventual Slash. Excessive Gore. Read warnings inside for more details. Indefinite Hiatus.
1. CH 01 - A Demon Spawned

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot.

**Summary:** Mrs. Cole has had enough. The Demon has to go and where else but the Home for Troubled Children. There, Tom meets Henry Isherwood. His jailmate.

**Warnings: Eventual Slash *wink wink*. Explicit** (?) **Gore, Child Abuse, Animal Death, Excessive Drama and Evil-ish Nuns/Priests.**

The following content is not meant to offend people of Catholic religion, but if it does, I apologize. Exorcisms in the early '19 century can be very frightening and the exorcism in this one is a by-product of unchartered fear, so if you think its full of blood...Well, fear makes people do stupid things, this is one of them. And besides, in this one, I don't think its an exorcism as much as it is murder. So, if this isn't your cup of tea, please don't read. This is merely fiction. I will not be held responsible for future tantrums and tears if you continue on. Don't come crying to me if your stomach couldn't take it.

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**Children of War**

**CH**. **01** \- **A** **Demon Spawned**

There was a deadly stillness in the air as an eerie breeze resonated through Little Hangleton, freezing animals and humans alike. As if to respond, the anguished howling of a child broke the stillness in the atmosphere, causing many individuals to shudder while nuns and priests prayed fervently to vanish the slowly rising malign tenseness that was creeping within them to clutch their souls in a vice-like grip.

"Ah!" The child cried as it clung desperately on the arms of the chair he was tied upon as priests and nuns continued to chant verses from the Bible, tightly holding their rosaries and shaking their bodies as if they were dancing a mad dance around a demon.

"Be gone, Demon! Your kind is not welcome here, so cease the mocking howls from the boy's mouth!" An elder priests spats as he began to sprinkle holy water on the boy who continued to cry louder as the procession went on.

Mrs. Cole shivered as she heard Tom's bloodcurdling screams of terror and helplessness. She wondered whether this ritual-exorcism would be able to cure Tom of his freakishness, of his unnatural abilities that only brought with them sorrow and hatred. Mrs. Cole is the matron of St. Wools Orphanage and it was her duty to raise the children, to discipline them. And who else but a woman guided by their Lord, one whose methods are known to be effective in child rearing?

Yet, as she listened to the cries of a young boy she once held with tender hands, only to be burned later on, she was nearly convinced she had made a mistake of sending him in for exorcism for what seemed like the fourth time. Stop that! A livid voice in her head said, the demon is working its evil magics to control your mind and to save itself from being killed, no demon wants to be exorcised, it said logically.

At that, anger rushed through her veins and she tightened her hold on the rosary, she started praying louder as anger fuelled her with the desire to cleanse herself and everyone the demon had come across. She agreed to come and watch the exorcism just to watch the demon suffer before its life sparked dimly in death, but instead she had nearly been controlled just by thinking of the boy!

As the others heard her loud praying, they too prayed determinedly louder to finally extinguish the parasite that resides in the town but will reside no longer. She watched with thinly hidden terrified fascination as few priests came in through the back door whilst holding a black knife with a gold handle.

They gathered round a black circular bowl filled with intricate white carvings of angels' wings surrounding a heart whose crown sparkled a holy light. Within it, lay angry boiling water mixed with unknown herbs and other liquids, poisonous or otherwise, burning and spitting sparks of heat as smoke rose in a lazy curl before disappearing completely.

The head priest, Ronan went forward and reverently raised the knife, gazing at it with awed eyes. He turned his head to look at the boy who quieted upon seeing the dagger. "This, little demon is a weapon of righteousness. It is a weapon to be used in exorcising misbehaving other-worlders like you!" He chuckled as he saw Tom freeze in fear. "Don't worry, soon you will be saved boy, with the power of the Lord!" He yelled in triumph as he faces the bowl of turbulent, boiling water and plunges the dagger swiftly under the angry liquid before quickly pulling it out. A splash of fierce liquid hit the flimsy wood of Tom's chair and it burned the leg slightly with a sizzle; further increasing the boy - demon's - struggles for freedom.

The other priests circle Tom and the Head Priest, forming a spine-chilling image as they raised their silver crosses and rhythmically sprinkled sweet smelling holy water at him. Tom gave a timid glare at Ronan and struggled twice as much with his bonds, then he ceased as Ronan took a step forward and the demon started growling and hissing under his breath.

Seeing this, the priests' eyes filled with mad ire as they quickly advanced the boy turned demon, the boy who hissed like a wrathful serpent.

"Die demon! Rot with your kind in hell!" With a vengeful yell, Head Priest Ronan slashed blindly onto Tom's chest and the boy shrieked as burning pain exploded in his thorax.

Mrs. Cole stared at the swiftly pooling blood on the floor, unwilling to stare at her charge who she was sure was staring at her with a betrayed gaze when she was sure she did nothing wrong to invoke his ire.

Guilt clawed at her stomach and she tried to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. Perhaps, she had been wrong to do this — whatever this was, was not the work of their Lord. It was evil, pure blind anger.

She looked up as a priest suddenly lurched backward and raised his cross weakly at something, filling her with horrid dread. She timidly followed the fear-stricken priest's gaze and stared aghast at the sight.

The boy was being cradled by a medium sized snake as it hissed dark promises in his ear before curling in a vengeful 's' of angered snakes. It's dark dune scales glinted maliciously in the flickering glow of the candles as an impossible breeze swept through them and the snake lunged, digging it's fangs at the priest who released a shrill yelp of pain as he shrunk into a tight ball, shuddering and his eyes open in a silent scream before he stilled. Dead.

Dozen screams of indignation filled the chamber as the snake continued to strike fiercely at the approaching priests. Suddenly, a terrified nun shrieked as the snake faced her, it's eyes lighting up with malice and the promise of pain it sought to deliver; the snake danced elegantly, swaying with an unheard tune before it lunged with its fangs bared to strike the woman.

Antecedent, the woman beside the other nun suddenly raised a gun from her dress and pointed it shakily at the snake; she sloppily shot it and accidentally diverted its attention to her. Mrs. Cole wondered how a nun came upon such a sinful weapon.

"That's right," the other nun declared with a tremor of uncertainty in her voice as it continued to stare at her unnervingly, "I attacked you, you demonic snake! And I shall be your end!" She said as her voice slowly rose into a soprano, causing the snake to hiss spitefully afore rearing it's head back, poised to attack.

The nun shot quickly and the snake dodged the bullet as it grazed it's scales slightly; the nun squeaked in alarm as she held the gun, frightfully shooting while her fear rose to a crescendo, rising to alarming heights as she continued to shoot and the snake quickly come forward.

The woman released a shrill yelp as she came face to face with the snake, it's fangs bared in twisted delight and eyes positively gleaming with unsuppressed malicious amusement before it's body shot forward, biting the vein in her ankle.

Mrs. Cole gasped and hastened to help the trembling woman when said nun shot a final bullet, straight through the snake's skull, while she herself stilled, lifeless. Then the snake froze, going limp on the floor with its eyes blanked by Death and the priests and nuns rejoiced, their voices a cacophony of glee-filled triumph against their beaten foe.

Suddenly, a loud hiss cut through them and they froze in fear, the temperature dropped rapidly as their breaths came out in short, frenzied puffs. They slowly turned around only to freeze in petrifaction, their blood frozen to absolute zero, as brittle as chipped wood.

The child — no, demon, stood before them. His face, shadowed by his hair, falling over his face like a dark veil with his brown almost black eyes shone a furious crimson. Some of the priests and nuns wet themselves in fear as the direness of the situation dawned on their conscious. They started backing away, some freezing, shuddering like mad as their eyes swivelled around the room. Searching, searching for a possible way out.

There was none. Mrs. Cole swallowed as a boulder dropped in her stomach and she stared at the boy in horror as he brandished something from the floor, fallen and cold from abandon.

He held the fallen knife —the one used to carve him long ago and nearly kill him just a moment afore— in his right hand, clenching and unclenching in perturbed madness; sweat gathered on his brow, slowly slipping down his neck and under his torn and bloodied shirt that showed his slowly healing laceration.

Mrs. Cole and the other nuns were now juddering in absolute fear, hugging them close whilst some dropped on the floor and started rocking themselves while whispering brokenly in silence. The priests stood with faux bravado as some of them bowed in total submission, frightened of their impending but sure death.

They jerked back as Tom took slow steps forward and others started bawling, crying for mercy they didn't dare give to the boy they almost killed and others just stared blankly as tears as well as snot cascaded down their face alike a waterfalls' insurgence of water. To their horror, Tom stopped and raised his face slowly before coming to a stop in front of Mrs. Cole who stood, petrified in sudden intuition.

"You won't do it," she said more confidently than she felt, "would you, Tom?" She licked her chapped lips uncertainly as she stared down at her once-charge.

The boy suddenly gave a chilling smile, alarming Mrs. Cole for its tauntingly childish appearance before he turned and raised both arms at the others whilst looking down on them imperiously; his gaze crushing each and every one of them into a mind-numbing statuesque petrifaction as silence wreathe around them adoringly. He then mumbled something incomprehensible and Mrs. Cole struggled to understand.

"What?" She asked and stilled in alarm whilst staring at Tom whose face was stretched in a menacing grin.

"Watch me."

Out of nowhere, red suddenly filled her vision and she opened her eyes —when had she closed them? — Then she screamed so loud it almost burst her own eardrums.

A man —priest, was standing shakily, trying to grasp something that wasn't there, searching and shuddering as his blood gurgled noisily. But that wasn't what scared her, it was that he was — was, oh god... headless.

The knife lay, a meter behind the beheaded priest, heavy with cold blood.

The man's neck was spitting and raining crimson projectiles before he fell down on his knees, onto the ground as his blood formed a puddle of sloshing blood. The others were covered from head to toe in the man's life liquid and their eyes were wild with fear whilst others started vomiting in front of them.

Fear.

Fear. Blood. Dead.

Fear. Blood. Dead. Gone. Demon. His arms, once again, rose in front of them.

What? No! Mrs. Cole tried to stand up but a crushing force pushed her down flat on the ground, and she watched with tear-laden eyes as blood continued to be spilt. Then Tom laughed, laugh alike bells from their church which was just so... wrong.

Hysterically, a nun scrambled to him, grasping and pulling desperately on his trousers for mercy.

Mercy he did not receive and neither will they.

Abruptly, he raised his hand and poised it near her face as if to caress. Then it moved to slap her but stopped, inches, before her cheeks flushed with tears. To Mrs. Cole and the other's horror, her spine snapped loudly in the din of cries around them as if an invisible force had grasped her neck and broke it irrevocably. Her head then rolled on the ground afore stopping on Mother Clarissa's blood soaked dress. Said nun blankly stared with dead eyes and then released a shrill scream befitting of a harpy, alarming the others to cry louder than ever.

"H-how, y-you-" Mrs. Cole began as she dropped down her knees in utter loss of composure.

"Don't you dare touch me." Tom spat spitefully, his eyes whirling with uncontrolled madness that was his but somehow isn't, and the bloodbath commenced once more. Soon enough, dismembered organs lay scattered in the chamber with Tom and Mrs. Cole in the midst of it.

Tom stood straight-back before he suddenly swayed on his feet, stumbling and collapsing on the floor in a dead faint; splashing whatever liquids overlay the once pristine floors. Mrs. Cole slowly stood up, padding towards Tom and staring at him in ill-concealed anger as well as disgust.

She made up her mind then. She won't kill him, no. She'll just leave him in a place he held with contempt.

Where else but the Home for Troubled Children? She didn't dare hope they'd be able to beat the freakishness out of him, but perhaps they'll be left to curb his violent tendencies to something more... worthwhile.

She then carried him uncaring and jostling him when she moved a bit jerkily, setting out to prepare her burden's farewell.

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And that's a wrap! For those who read this story, thank you! Sorry for the blood and all but when I wrote this I was in emo-mode. Also, there are some things you need to know...

First, this story will be a 'slow-updates' one. Second, I have no beta so if you see any mistakes, that's all on me. Third, my mind is constantly bombarded by plot-bunnies so bear with me if I don't update this story as much as you expect. And finally, English is not my native language so don't judge me.

Oh, and yeah, the plot is mine, so no plagiarizing people!

_**TBC...**_


	2. CH 02 - Seems Perfect

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot.

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**Children of War**

**CH. 02 - Seems Perfect**

Being a middle child in a well off but middle class family, perfection was a trade Felicity couldn't afford to be rusty in, and doing so would end up with her facing twin frowns of disappointment from her parents; a source of embarrassment amongst her siblings.

She was good at what she does. In the end, she ended up as the most successful of her parents' offspring, having managed to marry the best of the lot. She was glad of this accomplishment. But this was overshadowed by crushing dismay as she was told of the risks she would undertake if she were to bear a child.

Felicity has always wanted a child to call her own, to pamper and teach as her parents should have done. The child she would've borne would not be forced to grow up quickly, to compete for its parent's attention. Her child would be the king amongst kings.

Damien, her husband, wanted to sire a child but couldn't bear to see her suffer the pains of the pregnancy being much riskier than it should be. Neither did she, for that matter. Conversations escalated to flights of arguments and Damien proposed to take in a mistress, to train as his heir.

She would not have it. Only her child, his child, theirs, would be the one to hold the family's fortune once time came and no bastard would take that honour away from her child. But they were both desperate and their relationship held by a thin fabric, too stretched, too thin; could easily be snapped by unexpected yet unwanted diversions from current matters.

She was barely holding onto her relationship, and their love. Then it came.

It was in the chill of December when that fated package came, swaddled in warm blankets, in the arms of the family butler. She had gasped as they caught sight of dark tufts of tousled, black hair, chubby, pale cheeks, and they were gone. It took but a second for them to claim the child as theirs. Damien had taken a liking to the babe and she was not far behind.

The child had aristocratic features and rosy, bow lips. He was going to be a handsome young man. Of that, Felicity had no doubt. The child was male, as they later confirmed, and was named Henry. He would be good enough, she supposed, perfect, with absolutely no relation to them for her husband to mould as his heir. He was hers to pamper, though not as much as she would her biological son.

_Too perfect, there has to be a flaw..._

The legal adoption was done in mere days, and soon he was named christened as Henry Eobard Isherwood, son of Damien and Felicity Isherwood.

Felicity yawned, sitting up as she took notice of her surroundings. The space beside her was empty yet still warm. She grinned and headed to their bathroom, to clean up for a wonderful day.

** .**

**.**

**.**

In quick but elegant strides, Felicity entered the dining room and graced her husband with a tender smile. He sat with a half-cold coffee before him, much too focused in reading the newspaper to even bother drinking, and Felicity stared at her husband in fond exasperation.

"Good morning, my love." Damien smiled, lifting his head to address her, "My, aren't you positively beaming! Has something or rather, someone, coaxed a smile out of you?" His brows furrowed mock-threatening, as he made a show of casting suspicious glances around the room for this 'someone'.

Felicity laughed. The audacity of this man! "Silly," she tut with a smirk, "have I ever smiled as this to someone else other than you?" At his solemn but uncertain nod, Felicity shook her head, "Good morning, my dear." She said as she kissed him.

Damien smiled smugly and she lightly swatted his arm just as Henry came in, carrying a book under his arms.

He was rather delicate for his age, so pale and all black curls. He was perfect. High cheekbones lay in baby soft cheeks and bow lips were curled in a small smile, his face sharp yet soft in appearance. His greatest asset was his green eyes. They were greener than should be and sucked anyone who dared meet his gaze. He was well on his way to greatness.

_Isn't he always?_ A voice hissed in her ears, unsatisfied and scathing. Her hand strained on the teacup she held in her hands.

"Good morning mother, father." He greeted as he sat down, placing his book on his lap.

Damien and Felicity gave a smile. Henry was always so polite for his age. A gentle young man that he is, he is often spotted helping the maids in their cooking and conversing with the family butler, Barry. Her lips curled down. He was bright too, brighter than her neighbour's children. Well spoken as well, if her servant's shameless gossiping was any indication.

He had every quality as is expected in an heir. Something her true son would've been if he was born.

_Would've, is the word..._ A cruel laugh taunted her as her hands shook and tea dripped messily down.

Damien gave her a concerned frown and she just shook her head. There was no use on lamenting her plight. She had Henry and her husband, for her to care and love.

_Do you really love Henry? Truly?_ It mocked, and Felicity exhaled shakily.

"What are you reading, son?" Damien asked.

"Great Expectations, father." Henry answered, ever so polite. She gave a strained smile even as she gripped the arms of her seat tightly, tight enough to mark her skin red.

"That's my heir! Better than all the others, he is!" Damien praised and Henry gave a smile as he shook his head in denial. He was humble and kind as well.

Her _real_ son would've been too. If he had been born, he would've been celebrated and the one to be praised. He would also be perfect. Now it's as if some had replaced him, her baby, for a pale imitation, as she had been replaced by her parents for her handsome and perfect brother to make the family proud.

But it no longer mattered; she thought as she sipped her tea, she had Henry and her husband. They were enough.

More than enough, really.

** .  
**

**.**

**.**

Orange and soft yellow light streamed through the thin fabric of the Isherwood manor main Parlour's curtains, reflecting on the beige walls of the room, casting homey feel to it. Felicity was sat upon a plush couch, knitting and deep in thought.

'I wonder what colours would best suit Damien', she thought as her hands went through the motions for knitting woollen sweaters, 'grey, perhaps? It would accentuate his eyes', she hummed and nodded to herself when suddenly, the door opened and in came Damien.

"Damien!" Felicity exclaimed in surprise and delight, "Why, I thought you were much busy than you usually are during holidays..." She trailed off as she noticed his expression.

Said man gave a smile and swooped down to kiss her lightly on the lips, "I have found the perfect caretaker for our son, my dear. He'll love her." He said, giving an excited smile as Felicity released a fond one.

"How delightful," she said, "this means I'd have more time for myself." Damien gave a dismayed look and Felicity huffed. "The dear is growing up, I see no reason to coddle him much longer and besides, this'll give him a semblance of independence though it's not as if the boy will need it." She placed the half-knitted sweater and gestured for the man to take the seat adjacent to her.

"The boy is but three years old, Felicity!" The man sulked and slouched inelegantly on his seat.

The woman folded her arms and gave a look that formed a sheepish smile on Damien's face. "Henry can handle himself, he's a smart lad and if this nanny causes trouble, then we'll take the proper course of action and be done with it." She nodded to herself.

Damien shook his head and smiled. "Yes, it's not as if she won't be under constant watch and there's absolutely no use fussing over it since she's already been informed of her prospective duties."

True. With Felicity unable to bear a child (without risks), every staff in the manor is constantly scrutinized for suspicious behaviour so that Henry would not fall into unpleasant situations that boys often are. Their personal rooms were regularly monitored and their duties diligently taught to them to perfection. The Isherwood has high standards.

She frowned at the implication of this. "And you did not see fit to inform me of your choice?"

He gave a sheepish smile as he noticed his blunder. "I thought you'd approve."

She frowned deeper. "Still..." Then, Felicity sighed, letting the matter go. Fighting over it is useless; they'd be going in circles. Damien was as stubborn as a mule, and while she greatly admired this part of him, she also disapproved of it when it was pointed towards her.

The arrival of this woman would free up her schedule and give her a welcome reprieve for discussing certain matters with her neighbours. Truly, this would also allow her husband moments of relaxation and peace. God knows how much he is in need of it.

"This would be a great opportunity for him to develop in ways we cannot force him to learn, and it would fill his never ending well of curiosity." She said.

As if he heard her wayward thoughts, Damien furrowed his brow at her and sighed. "Yes, well, it will also help you come to terms with certain things." With that, he gave her a meaningful look at which she retorted a challenged brow. That man! She gave no reaction other than that and nodded.

For being hyped up and working all the time, he was very perceptive. Understanding too, which was a blessing. Men rarely are these days, she thought absently.

Damien stared contemplatively outside. "I guess our son has to be told as well." He glanced at her purposely.

She barely refrained from rolling her eyes. "I'll tell him, don't you worry yourself over it." And he shouldn't. For as healthy as Damien was, some hereditary sickness still plaques him and unnecessary fretting made it worse. Best not aggravate him. She gripped her skirt tightly.

Planting a chaste kiss on her husband's lips, she headed towards her son's bedroom with intent. When she did arrived it was at the sight of a slightly opened door and the smooth sound of coal to paper. A staccato of knocks briefly interrupted her son's concentration before the scratches resumed and a sound of affirmation flit through the gap of the door.

She strode in to see her son drawing a portrait of a solemn figure. Who it was, she didn't know.

"Mother," he muttered in greeting as his eyes shifted to her and he set the coal aside. He straightened at his mother's serious demeanour and politely patted the space on the bed beside him.

Her son was very considerate. Often times, he would give people his seat or meal when he spotted them. He went out of his way to offer them comfort or security in lieu of minding his own needs. Her female companions praised her son for his compassion and selflessness, envying her for having such a wonderful son.

How _sweet_...

Not understanding that he wasn't. Neither in blood or appearance. He was different. Not hers or her husband's.

_For goodness' sake!_ She growled inwardly, pushing _those_ thoughts away (traitorous, cruel, thoughts), and turned to focus on her task.

"Dear," she started, licking her lips calmly with just a hint of anxiety, "as you well know, you are now approaching four winters." Henry nodded and worried his lips in apprehension and anticipation. For what, it was a mystery..

"Your father and I have considered it for the longest time and we've come to a decision." She was deeply worried about her son's reaction to this news. Would he wail and flail about as a spoilt child or scorn them for thinking he was abandoned? Or perhaps would he be full of understanding, misunderstood or otherwise, and take it as it is? These questions fluttered around her head and she could barely listen to the twitter of birds through the windows. Her heartbeat was pounding beneath the vulnerable skin and flesh of her breast, feeling as if a bee was flickering about her skin for a way out. As it was, she was as twitchy as a mad hatter without his tea party.

"We believe you are more than worthy to be left alone in private pursuit of your fancies," Henry opened his mouth to say something but Felicity interjected. If they were fortunate, no misunderstandings would be had. And damn her cowardly husband for not supporting her for this, "as long as it is not foolish endeavour." Henry released his lip and relief crossed his features before he stiffened and gulped.

"Er, I sense a 'but' here..." He trailed off at Felicity's reluctantly proud expression. So clever, as is proper for heirs. At least hers or should be hers. She inwardly sighed, again, no use in tormenting herself.

_For Damien..._

"Yes," she affirmed, "you will have a nanny. She will care for you when I cannot and pay attention to you as you so wish. She will alert me for anything that might prove to be a threat to you and anything other than that tad bit is your secret to keep. I will not force you to tell as long as it is not hazardous to the family. On the other hand, your studies will be doubled in exchange for more personal space. You will study as hard as we hope, for the sake of this family. Is that understood, dear?" At Henry's nod she smiled and embraced him, planting a kiss atop his head before turning to leave.

"And please, clean up before supper." Henry smiled sheepishly but nodded. Soon enough, the door was closed and Felicity turned to the direction of her husband's study. She smirked.

_Success…_

Felicity was rather glad that he understood for she wouldn't know what to do otherwise. She honestly hadn't thought of a contingency plan if the conversation went out of hand. She was much too anxious for such plans to come to mind and she nearly hit herself for being caught unawares without it.

It wouldn't do, not at all. Maybe she was becoming rusty... Staying in the house for a large amount of time must be harmful for her mental faculties. A visit to her friends was in order, sooner than she would dislike.

That nanny better be the first and hopefully, the last one.


	3. CH 03 - Nanny

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot.

**A/N**: Please read the note at the very bottom, thanks.

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**Children of War**

**CH. 03 - Nanny**

The day after, Henry found himself in the garden, lying underneath the bottom of the tree that provided a shade from the sun's rays. He was staring with glazed eyes at the leaf between his fingers with nary a thought of his surroundings, as if the plants held all the answers of the universe. Though he maintained the image of a philosophical boy, he was really deeply entrenched in his thoughts that pertained to the events that occurred just yesterday afternoon. The day had started out inconspicuously enough without any unforeseen hints milling about. His parents hadn't given off a feel that accounted for anything of import. Why, they were as goo goo-eyed at each other as the day he could finally remember things - _of blinding flashes of light and faraway worlds that spoke of unimaginable fantasies_ \- and they talked as if nothing could tear them apart. Save for, maybe, the annihilation of an entire species in the universe, and even then they'd still be much smitten with each other.

He could still feel the vestiges of shock and apprehension as his mother approached him with a seeming calm façade, though if anyone knew her well enough they'd notice the twitching and the slight wringing of her hands behind her back. He didn't know what to think of it but he had smiled (uncomfortably but she didn't notice) and looked at her in question as he offered the space beside him.

He didn't show any outward reactions to his mother's bizarre behaviour. He felt the agitated tingling of his skin as an unknown energy curdled within him, twisting and knotting, it made him break out in cold sweat. His mother hadn't noticed even as a bead of sweat slid down his temple all the way down to the nape of his neck. He had never felt as tense as a bow until then.

Henry thought of the rather obvious differences between him and his parents, the hair - especially the eyes -, were different than his parents' brand of aristocratic beauty. These thoughts fed to the growing dread that swelled in him, growing stronger each silence. He honestly thought himself as good as banished from his home - _it would no longer be_, his pessimistic side had said - when suddenly his mother finally told him that they were giving him more freedom. Something he hadn't had the moment his eyes shone with crippling intelligence - for those it targets - and something he greatly coveted since catching sight of the children outside. He would enjoy this opportunity, he had thought.

Well, at first he thought he could go footling about without heir-ship controlling his every motion, every thought, for the sake of inheriting the family trade. He was just a mere boy and smart or no, he wanted to play with other children. He wanted to run and roll on the grass as boys are wont to do. Not that he knew, having not done that before but according to his books, other boys did. He really felt as if he were floating at that moment.

He was just about to ask whether he really could, only for his thoughts to be shredded to wisps of non-existent dust. He sensed the unheard 'but' in her statement and could only gulp. Only for his mum to say that he'll have a nanny to oversee his boyish fancies, and that was all he heard before thoughts of abandonment flew in some dark and dingy part of his mind that he'll never visit willingly.

To be honest, he didn't know what to think of this supposed nanny. He felt... intrigued but on the other hand he also felt restlessness to add to his mess of feelings. He was rather distraught with these emotions within him and could only smile sheepishly and nod as his mother left to inform his father of his acceptance.

This change in their lives was frightening and he felt as if his life was rearranged before him, only to end up as a towering freight train about to slam at him at the slightest irremovable movement, and spiralling into the madness of all dark things. He disliked change, disliked it for its unexpectedness, its reverence of shaking people's lives, and its feeling of gayness that left him feeling melancholic for days. Change made people long for things, like he did for freedom.

Change wasn't always bad, it's just a constant in life that couldn't be avoided, couldn't be stopped. By no means did he like it, though it seems he'd to be accustomed to it.

Henry sighed as a breeze curled around him in an intimate embrace, mussing up his hair and slightly crumpling his clothes. He stared at the sky, spotting a bird that glided with predatory grace, swooping and turning in loops as it slowly disappeared from sight. Freedom. He rather liked it, even if he was afraid of it.

"Young master," a voice on his right muttered. Henry jumped and turned to the offending trespasser of his blissful bubble. He glared as Mister Barry chuckled and Henry huffed.

"Is there something wrong?" Said young master asked, his mind coming up with possible reasons for Mister Barry's presence.

Mister Barry chuckled and shook his head. "Your mother requests your presence in the parlour. The nanny will be escorted in shortly." The man said, gesturing for him to follow.

As they walked through the halls, a few stray thoughts came to mind. Would his nanny be nice or would she be a stringent caretaker? Is she astringent and a dusty bookworm? Maybe she's a mix of both? There was only one way to figure out, and it was through confrontation. Henry straightened his posture and smiled shyly when Mister Barry gave him a proud smile.

When he entered, Henry immediately noticed her mother and father talking amiably on separate seats, occasionally swatting each other's hands and for the life of everything, he couldn't figure out why...

Adults. They're so strange.

"Good Afternoon mother, father," greeted Henry, "Mister Barry told me that the nanny will be here soon, as you informed me yesterday."

"Yes, she will." Felicity affirmed coupled with a curt nod. It was clear to Henry that his mother was starting to have second thoughts. He really hoped this nanny would be great, per his father's hearsay.

"Your mother is right, dear son, but enough of that!" Damien said whilst clapping his hands. "Where have you been spending your time in, young man? Your nanny might be here but it doesn't mean that you're allowed to skive off us." His father said with his hands on his hips, giving off the air of an injured mother hen. It seemed, for all of Felicity's troubles, she was still paying attention to their conversation and couldn't help but roll her eyes at his father's behaviour.

Henry smiled. "I wanted some time to myself to think about the nanny. Trying to see if I had any doubts." He added with a sheepish grin. Felicity raised a brow in question.

"And do you?"

"No," he shook his head fervently, "I'm sure it will be worth it."

"Of course it will." His mother said, though Henry thought it was more to herself than anyone. Before Henry could say anything else, the door opened to make way for which Harry assumed as the nanny, and behind the woman was Mister Barry, the family butler.

The nanny was a bit on the short side in roughly 5 ft. and 4 inches. She had mousy brown hair that was fixed into an ordinary bun and was tanned with an oval shaped face and stern eyebrows, giving her an air of strictness about her that none would want to cross. Though it was ruined by her strange eyes, one was the colour of brown and the other was a light hazel, and judging by his mother's narrowing of the eyes, she no more liked her than she liked whatever was bothering her. He didn't know.

Once Mister Barry left, the lady immediately sat down after curtsying and his father's prompting; Henry almost shifted in nervousness.

"Henry," His father started, "as we have decided, we have picked a nanny to care for you whenever we are absent. Now, she is Muriel Shelby and Miss Shelby, this is my son, Henry Isherwood." He gestured to Henry. "Miss Shelby here is in-charge of your care till you grow old enough to do as you please." Here, Damien gave him a considering glance and Henry abashedly nodded as he attempted to calm himself from the exultation that bloomed in him at the prospect of freedom or what resembled it.

His mother gave Miss Shelby a narrowed gaze. "She will see to it that you are unharmed and healthy whilst we go about our tasks. And as I said before, your studies will be monitored by your private tutors and the difficulty increased. We expect great things from you, our son. You hold great promise and for that, we will make sure nothing deters you from reaching your potential. You're much too special to be at risk." She said. Henry furrowed his brow as his mothers, expression twisted and an unknown emotion flit through her eyes before it blanked. Henry wondered what that was about.

He didn't like the sound of being special. Henry didn't think he was. Other boys could be smart enough if they tried; he wasn't any different than them. There was nothing in him that screamed 'special' as his mother and father seems to notice in him. If there was - he was sure there _wasn't_ -, he would be allowed to go out more. He didn't want to be different than the other children. He opened his mouth but closed it, deeming it not polite to say before a stranger. He wanted a chance to be an ordinary boy after all.

His father nodded, shooting his mother looks every now and then. "Yes, you are, Henry. Take your studies seriously and don't fret, I'm sure your nanny will provide help in your spare time if need be." His father winked at him and Henry puffed his cheeks at the teasing. He sure can handle his studies, and he needed no help with it! He grumbled inwardly, as he fluffed his metaphorical feathers in indignation.

He turned towards Miss Shelby, ignoring his father in favour of raising his hand to his nanny, eager to show his newfound pseudo-independence. "My name is Henry Eobard Isherwood; it's a pleasure to meet you." His slips tugged in a shy smile and Miss Shelby returned it, albeit stiffly than his.

As they shook hands, his father clapped in obvious delight. "Welcome to Isherwood manor then, Miss Shelby. Mister Barry shall guide you to your new quarters. I hope you like your accommodations."

His mother, Felicity, bowed her head in acknowledgement. "Yes, I'm sure the others will give you a warm welcome." Once Ms. Muriel was gone, his mother immediately excused herself and both father and son were left baffled by her abrupt departure.

"Is mother fine, father?" Henry asked as he squashed the urge to wring his hands.

Damien gave a wan smile, gripping his cane tightly as he moved to stand up. "Your mother is fine, dear boy, perhaps a little under the weather. She needs her friends, I suppose." He beamed and Henry nodded in relief. He was slightly worried about his mother, though. The way his father said it, it seems as if his mother has caught something. Maybe, this would explain her worrying behaviour yesterday and just a moment ago.

"Rest is what she needs, comfort too. Don't we all, after a weeks' hard work?" His father said as he ruffled Henry's hair and left the room, leaving Henry to his thoughts of his mother's state.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Amidst hurried days and stern teachings of times' long past, the family seldom really exchanged words (barring Damien and Henry) and went about as normal. If they did, it was always formal and they never really made the effort to converse just for the sake of knowing deeply about each other. Well, he had, but it was not until he grew older that he noticed the extreme reluctance on his mother's part. His father didn't seem to mind though, encouraged it even though he was often swamped with work to talk with him often.

His mother's reticence had been much prominent these days. Little acts they might be, but it was glaringly distinguishable when you spent every hour of the day watching your parents prattle on, occasionally giggling and lightly slapping each other, he had began to analyse their actions. But, as he was still a child barely out of toddler-hood, the significance of those acts simply flew over his head.

And, from the few times he saw other couples interact with each other, he never really saw others who acted immensely outré as his parents did. He didn't understand whether it was best that they were as bizarre as that or not. Henry did not want to find out.

As strange as his parents' behaviours might be, he greatly enjoyed the times he spent with his nanny. If they weren't talking, then simply having a companion that wasn't his parents who weren't much forthcoming with answering his curiosity was enough for him. Not that she was either, but at least with enough haggling he got what he wanted.

She was neither condescending nor garrulous; she was crisp and cut to the point. She didn't mother him and certainly did not indulge his more petulant side as Henry thought she'd be wont to do as nanny. She did try to shelter him as his parents do but he hoped to nip the bud as it were.

He had found it all out after days of awkward silences and overbearing politeness when finally, she deigned to speak to him. They had been in the drawing room as he tried to make heads or tails of his studies when Miss Muriel had entered the room, bearing a trolley of pastries and tea, and setting it in front of him.

He'd been perplexed before remembering that he did have a nanny and sat in anticipation. He had wanted to at least be able to get something out of her afore the day ends.

He did, though her words were completely unexpected.

"Young master," she said sounding for the entire world, weary and ancient. Henry blinked and his hands had trembled as he set down his cup, his pupils nothing more than pinpricks and the whites of his eyes blown to extreme but still humane proportions, "I don't expect you'd understand. I simply have no patience to deal with, pardon me for my words, a snot-nosed brat. However you have exceeded past my expectations, ergo I apologize for my behaviour and my words. It was uncouth and disrespectful." Miss Muriel said as she laid her hands primly on her lap, and seated as she was, made herself comfortable.

He had smiled then for finally, his elusive nanny had spoken. He cared not if her words were disrespectful, only that he had succeeded. So she is astringent, Henry smiled behind a bite of his éclair, is she as my previous guesses as well, he wondered. He peered at his nanny under his fringe and Miss Muriel gave him a less stiff smile. And so, it was the beginning of a wonderful friendship.

He smiled and ruffled his hair, staring at the clouds that formed every which way. Perhaps change wasn't really all that horrible after all.

**.**

**.**

**.**

It had been weeks since that fateful turnabout of events and Henry now stood before towering rows of hedges beautifully filled with roses, flowers he greatly favoured, in search of his diligent nanny. Stepping over a wayward root, Henry made his way through the seeming unfathomable paths of the maze and carefully looked out for any sign of the woman.

A rustle of leaves caught his attention and he lightens his steps, turning his head at both directions as he followed the source of the sound. His ears prickled and he turned around a corner, a word heavy on his tongue and promptly fell silent. The breeze ruffled his hair away from his eyes and he tilted his head.

He caught a glimpse of a long, dark grey object being placed within the folds of Miss Muriel's sleeves before said woman was about to turn. His eyes widened and he quickly moved as if he had just arrived, making a show of resting his hand on his knees whilst feigning exhaustion as he shouted, "Miss Muriel!" And said woman turned as if burned; Henry fought the urge to fidget as an intense stare pierced him, and he furrowed his brows. "Miss Muriel?"

She blinked and slowly smiled, "Young master," she greeted and she moved to support him, "may I inquire as to why you're in the gardens? You're not neglecting your studies, I hope?" Miss Muriel said as she folded her arms, tapping the floor rhythmically with her foot.

Henry pouted, "Of course not!" He denied and tucked his hand on his pockets, hoping to hide his twitching. "I need your help." He said, feeling the burn of embarrassment at this proclamation. It seemed his father was right, yet again. Henry's brow quivered.

His nanny merely smiled and he inwardly sighed in relief. "I knew you would soon enough." His head wrenched in her direction and he spotted a sly smirk on her face. He groaned as she led him through the maze. It went unnoticed however, as her eyes narrowed and glanced at him in the corner of her eye, as he was unmindful of anything other than his own humiliation.

Though he did notice, whilst turning around a corner, the emerald rose that stood starkly amongst red roses; its thorns mysterious in its absence.

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Come on!" Henry urged as beads of sweat rolled down his face in rivulets, his hands raised in front of him in great concentration.

_Just a little bit more..._

It all started two months ago, when everything was as it should be, that trouble struck. He was lucky that, as it happened, he had been alone in his room with the canvas as his only company, and frustrated of his failed attempts at colouring the unusual rose he spotted long ago; that he let out a shriek of anger and his pillows swelled before bursting into a flurry of feathers.

He had been shocked. He hadn't done anything, yet he did, and it happened. Unfortunately, the servants, his nanny, and mother had come running to see the commotion or in his mother's case, danger. He managed to calm them, fortunately, and all but assured them that he was fine and was just angry that he accidentally flung the pillows around the room in rage, causing the pillows to be damaged and feathers to fly in the air. Their faces told him that they weren't buying it but they were slightly mollified. Thank the Gods.

He wondered what it was that caused it and so, here he was. Standing in the very same position he spotted his nanny months ago, he was crouched on the soft grass, his face contorted in concentration and aggravation as he tried to make a flower bud between his hands; his tongue stuck out on the corner of his lips. He had never felt as spent as he did now.

A bead of sweat slipped down his nose and into his lips, he absently licked it and narrowed his eyes on the bud resting innocently on his palms. Murmuring under his breath, he added more concentration whilst closing his eyes tightly, urging the warmth under his skin to flow through his hands and into the flower as he'd been trying to achieve for a long time.

He crouched and after a few minutes of coaxing the warmth, he was about to fall into the arms of Morpheus. Suddenly, warmth burst through his skin and he gasped in delight whilst opening his eyes, wanting to see for himself the product of his hard-work, and he marvelled at the elegance with which the bud bloomed into the rose he'd seen months ago, back when he'd seen the strange object his nanny had hidden. It was as beautiful as he had seen. His eyes widened, it was as his eyes, a green too bright to be normal.

_Yes! I did it!_

Henry touched the emerald petal and grinned as he stood up. So shocked was he at the confirmation of his suspicion that, when he turned, he gasped. It was neither in delight nor joy, but in horror. He stumbled back and landed on his bum, no longer entertaining the chance of normality.

For there stood Miss Muriel, with her hands covering her mouth and her eyes blown wide with a glint of something, in all her brown garbed glory. Henry's eyes dropped then rose to once more meet hers and he jerked at the anger he saw. He was now certain of his fate. He trembled and hugged himself, the unusually coloured rose immediately forgotten on the ground. Miss Muriel would surely report this to his parents and everything would be over.

His eyes closed and he whispered. "Miss Muriel... I-" He hung his head, resigning to the inevitable.

No, it was already over.

* * *

And that's the third chapter! I hope you guys like it coz this week was _killing_ me. So, yeah..

You guys are probably wondering why I'm asking you to read this but... I don't think I'll be updating for awhile. There, I said it. I'm sorry but certain circumstances will prevent me from posting and for that I'll try to write some more chapters, so that when I have time to post again, I'll have ready and revised chapters to post everyday.

That's it. Sorry folks! I _might_ have time to write a paragraph or two before completing another chappie but that'll take a long while. I _will_ come back because fanfiction (writing stories) is my life and hopefully the fact that I have few friends in that place my family would be moving to would give me time to write as I please after I finish everything else (i.e. homework and chores).

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_Review, please?_

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_**TBC...**_


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